


That Line

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bar, Castiel is barely an angel, Drinking, M/M, PWP, Possessive!Castiel, Post Season 10, post!demon dean, vague season 9 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2315306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bond between them stretched through the years, and only once did Dean ever try and cross That Line between them.  Castiel wouldn't have it though.</p><p>Only...when he finds Dean working on a case, seducing a woman, Castiel doesn't like that very much.  No, he doesn't like it at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Line

_Not for nothin’ Cas, but the last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid._

Four times there was a moment between them where Dean was sure whatever “profound bond” Castiel felt between them was more than just friends. More than family, even. Or perhaps not more, but different. A look, a touch, a phrase, a lingering hand, or embrace that went on just past too long.

The fifth time Dean was drunk and he crossed That Line. In fact, he obliterated it. Cas was standing too close, too damn close. And he always smelled good, you know? Nothing lame like that stupid-ass movie with John Travolta where the angels smell like freakin’ cookies or whatever, but he smelled clean. Like Heaven, he guessed. He’d been there but the memory of that jaunt through the heavenly streets had faded enough to where it was just Ash, the bar, that dick Zachariah, and the garden.

But heaven was probably pretty freaking clean and so was Cas. Even knee-deep in monster guts through Purgatory he was still clean. Even washed in the blood of people he slaughtered, he was still clean. Dean never had been. He watched Sammy weep about being tainted, by demon blood, by his destiny, vessel of Lucifer and all that.

But he wasn’t dirty the way Dean was. Every shitty thing Dean had ever done had been a choice. He didn’t have the whole Demons dripped blood into my mouth so I didn’t have a choice sort of excuse. He was just raised wrong. He was just born wrong.

So when a clean thing, a clean vessel of heaven wanted to be this close to him, nose-to-nose like he was a goddamn magnet to his person, Dean felt something rush through him. Just knowing Castiel had pulled him from Hell itself was enough. The bond was more than profound. It was eclipsing. It was all encompassing.

When Castiel stood there like that, looking not at Dean but at his soul, Dean sort of… snapped. It was years and years of pent up sexual frustration and denying himself the very thing he wanted, the very thing he was damn sure Castiel wanted, and he just… took it. He grabbed Castiel by the front of his trench coat and kissed him like the son of a bitch had been begging him to do for so freaking long now.

Except Castiel went still. He didn’t return the kiss. He froze like he was scared or startled. Like he hadn’t expected it, and how the hell was that possible. Dean was sufficiently freaked though, and he stepped back so far and so fast he crashed into the bathroom sink and gave himself a pretty substantial bruise on the lower part of his spine.

His heart hammering against his chest was a pretty good distraction from the pain, though, and he felt the blood rushing up from his dick right to his face and fuck he was so embarrassed. Castiel just stood, there too, just staring at him. What the fuck kind of reaction was that supposed to be?

“Say something, damn it,” Dean barked.

The angel’s face went animated, his fingers touching his lips, then he dropped his hand. “Dean I… we… this isn’t part of the plan.”

“Yeah fuck you, Cas. Fuck you and fuck the plan.” He was angry because he could feel the desire coming off the bastard, but he was so unmoving. So like Dean. That’s probably what was so funny about it. Funny enough to make him laugh when he turned his back to the angel and grabbed a beer from the little mini fridge Sam stocked before he went off on his jog or whatever.

Castiel tried to apologize, but Dean ignored him. He crossed that line once, and was thrown back, and didn’t plan on trying to cross it again. Castiel made his position pretty clear. He turned the lights off, faced the wall, crossed his arms, and eventually closed his eyes.

“If we go there, I don’t know what it will mean for the future. I’m not an angel the way I was before, Dean. I don’t know what’s going to happen. We can’t take that risk.”

Dean almost laughed. That risk. He’d taken enough risks. Sent him to hell, sent him to heaven, ripped his soul to shreds and blackened his eyes at one point. What could possibly happen that was worse than any of that? Just for fucking an angel? An angel he loved, if he was honest with himself. Which of course he only was because it was dark and he was drunk and Castiel was still sitting in that stupid chair.

*** 

They didn’t talk about it until Castiel crossed that line for himself. They were working on a case. It was weird, being on a normal case. He and Sam were all gussied up like the FBI in some bar and they were trying to weasel information out of some broad looking for free drinks. Dean had a couple credit cards and a wad of cash.

The gold card kept the drinks coming, and being he was a man of the law in their eyes, kept the spit and roofies away too. She was pretty enough, for being a little older. Not Dean’s usual flavor, but what the hell was that, really? Sticking P in V was more of a way to just release a little bit of the tension built up on the road in the Impala’s smelly-ass cab with Sam munching granola in the passenger seat and Castiel hunkered down in the back, just out of view.

It was a way to get rid of his pent up sexual frustration because the thing he wanted most, his favorite flavor, felt like it was too big a risk. So yeah maybe he wasn’t over it. And maybe he still noticed the way Castiel looked at him like the angel was in love because who was Castiel trying to kid here? He rebelled for Dean. You didn’t just do that for fuckin’ nothing.

But his mind was on the case. It was on the case, damn it. She was blonde, which he never really preferred but he could get past it. She was drinking some sort of sugary shot, Buttery Nipple, the bartender called it. Dean wanted to balk because who drinks crap like that?

Well broads at this bar did, because he heard a waitress order rounds of those things for another table. Sliding up on the stool just one away from her, he held up two fingers. “Whatever she’s having,” he said, and gave her his customary Disney Princess-eyes wink.

She melted on the spot.

It was hardly worth it, but they were pretty sure her sister was the witch and they needed blood of a family member to break the curse. Sources said she was the only other surviving member, the rest taken in the housefire which sent the Bitch Witch onto her killing rampage. Dean almost quit giving any fucks about the people dying, but it was his job. And maybe that was leftover Demon talking.

She was cute enough, crowsfeet at the eyes which belied her age. He guessed she told people twenty-six. He guessed ten more than that. “So, this all you drinkin’ sweetheart?”

She shrugged and glanced over at the crappy Led Zepplin cover band which was a total affront to all things good and decent, but Dean couldn’t complain about that now. A few couples were dancing and he figured a few more of these, a spin around the floor, and he’d get her back to the hotel room.

“You look like you’re more business than pleasure,” she said after sipping on the shot. Yeah that’s right, she sipped on it. _Sipped on it._

Dean physically bit the side of his tongue before answering. “Yeah. My partners and I rolled into town. Just doing a routine investigation on these fires.” He nodded over to Sam and Cas who were drinking alone at the far end of the bar. Back-up, but for a split second Castiel’s eyes were glaring daggers at the woman. Dean felt a rush in his gut.

“Ooh, cops?”

“FBI.” He brandished his badge and she quirked an eyebrow at his name.

“Robert Plant?”

“Thank my parents. My brother’s name is Elton John Plant.” Dean winked at her and she blushed. “You can call me Rob.”

“Hmm Rob. Thanks for the drink.” She downed the rest of it and then wiped her mouth primly with the edge of her middle finger. “I didn’t think FBI guys could drink on the job.”

“Call me a…” Dean hesitated and glanced over at Cas once more, “rule bender. A few shots never hurt anyone.”

That was true, but it would hurt her. At least a little. They needed a lot of blood for this spell. But she was drunk now and sitting directly next to him and it had been a while since Dean looked back at Castiel. She, however, was shifting nervously.

“Your friend over there doesn’t seem thrilled my hand is on your arm.”

Dean looked down at her red, manicured nails, then glanced over at Cas. He almost laughed at his constipated expression. “Ah don’t worry about that guy. Stick up his ass. Had love handed to him on a freakin’ silver platter but he thought he was better off alone. Let’s just say he’s afraid and bitter about people who aren’t.” Dean licked his lips, then said, “Like me. Wanna dance?”

The band quit playing five minutes before, and although this was obviously a place for classic rock, maybe a little country, some god-awful dance crap came over the speaker. It had that dull thudding bass which was really all you could hear. But there were enough college kids in the crowd, maybe there just to feel a little dangerous and rebellious, and they got up.

It was late and people were drunk. Dean was drunk. This woman in her red dress was drunk. She had her hand on his arm as they moved past the tables littered with beer bottles and half-eaten plates of crappy, fried bar food. Dean pushed past a couple of girls dancing together, their eyes fixed on a couple of dudes near the bathroom. One of the girls made a show of grabbing the other’s ass when the dudes looked over.

Dean fought the urge to roll his eyes as he began to sway with the music. Here’s a little secret that’s not so secret. Dean Winchester can dance. He can sing, too. Played guitar in that unpracticed amateur way. Sam knew it. Sometimes Dean would get drunk and turn up the radio and dance around whatever shitty motel they were in until he puked in the trash can and passed out.

Castiel, however, had never seen it. He just as soon thought Dean wasn’t into that sort of thing. And Dean could almost feel Castiel’s gaze boring into him as he twisted and touched and turned to the music. It wasn’t great, but his body was lithe and limber. Had to be with being on the road so much and needing to keep up his tone so he could kill the monsters before they could kill him.

Though at this point a dead Winchester just sounded like the start of a shitty joke.

Two Winchesters walk into a bar. One gets shot…

The plan was going accordingly and she was whispering into his ear now that they could make for her hotel room. 

“I got one even closer, dollface,” he said, touching her neck with the tips of his fingers. He brushed back a lock of hair and buried his nose in the skin just under her ear. Breathing in deeply, he smelled the sour scent of sweat and perfume all mixed up together. Cas never smelled like that.

She gave a hum, her head rolling back and her hair falling behind her, almost touching the top of her ass. She had allure, and had it been any other year, Dean might have ignored Castiel rising from his barstool and stalking across the room. But it wasn’t any other year.

Castiel was watching the display and he didn’t like it, and he was about to do something. Dean had a sudden realization that he might even smite this woman right here on the floor just to prove a point. A point, Dean thought, the cocksucker could have made in the bedroom a long time ago. It’s not like Dean would have ever turned him down.

It’s not like this person on his arm right now, rubbing her boobs against his shoulder, made him any less loyal to the bastard in the trench coat who was now close enough for Dean to reach out and touch.

“Problem, Cas?” Dean muttered.

The woman blinked over and actually jumped a little when she saw the expression on the Angel’s face.

“I’d like you to stop that.” Castiel’s voice punctuated the air, through the music with perfect clarity like the room was totally silent. Except it wasn’t. The music was still humming.

Dean wasn’t having any of it though. Not right now. Not yet. Not when Castiel had fucking tortured him for years now and even when Dean crossed that line, Castiel wouldn’t give in. Now he thought he could just open his zip and measure his dick with this strange woman? Who was bigger, huh Dean? Who do you want to fuck more?

No question, but Dean wasn’t going to give in.

Yet.

“Look man, we’re a little busy here.” Dean pulled her close, one hand brushing along her right breast and she couldn’t help the startled gasp. Castiel’s eyes went even more narrow, just slits now, and Dean thought, Oh shit he really might kill her. So he looked over at Sam, but his moose of a brother was gone.

“You win.”

It was like cannon fire. It felt like all the noise and air drained from the room and Dean was just standing there. The woman stopped existing. Their case stopped existing. There was Dean. Then there was a small space. Then there was Castiel.

The angel’s arm reached out and touched the front of Dean’s shirt, and he was gone. Not like emotionally or mentally or anything like that. Literally he was there, then he was gone.

The woman was standing in the middle of the floor, totally alone, half convinced she’d been drugged because suddenly the FBI agent, the first cute guy to pay her any attention in god knows how long, disappeared. And no one seemed to notice. Hallucinating.

An arm fell on hers though, and she looked up at the softer, more baby face of the missing man’s partner and she felt her whole body start to shake. “I think you need a drink.”

It was true. She did. She went with him quietly, and wasn’t surprised when she saw Sam had a knife. She wasn’t even surprised when she felt the drugs from the drink kick in, or the blood draining from her arm. She figured she wouldn’t remember it in the morning. It was just her luck.

Sam broke the spell an hour later. It all went to plan. Not even the witch knew it was coming. That didn’t matter. The world was shifting a little because he knew that the man who chose to be the servant of hell was about to be taken apart by the host of heaven.

*** 

He couldn’t see anything. Couldn’t hear anything. Couldn’t smell or taste. But he could touch. He could feel. He was surrounded, possessed, claimed. Castiel was only half an angel, and still in the vessel of the dead Jimmy Novak, but behind that was something all encompassing, and it was encompassing him.

Dean had fucked an angel once. Anna. Who then tried to murder his mother to prevent him from ever being born and eventually she died, but she was still an angel. Without grace, but it didn’t change facts.

And it wasn’t like this.

This was hot. Burning hot. Like people imagined hell was, only Dean knew the fires of hell burned cold. This was different. A heavenly host was holding him and his mouth was somewhere in the southern regions, though still outside his jeans.

In a rush, everything came back to him. His sight, his smell, his hearing, his taste. There was something bitter in the back of his throat. Bile, maybe, from being so unceremoniously ripped from the bar and thrown into this room. It must have taken all of Castiel’s mojo, though right now it hadn’t slowed him down, that was for damn sure.

Dean realized he was on a bed, the mattress was naked. They’d somehow squirmed the sheets and blankets onto the floor. He was laying near the top with his palms pressed against the wall and his hips were in the air as Castiel was fumbling with his buttons and zip.

His vision wavered, stars exploding in front of his eyes like a head rush, and he pushed Castiel aside, undoing all the barriers between his cock and Castiel’s mouth. The jeans were off with a little bit of a struggle, cuffs catching on socks, and he wondered when his boots had come off, but it didn’t really matter.

“That damn coat,” Dean heard himself mutter, when the collar touched his naked calf.

Castiel laughed, a sound that went straight into his belly, shooting down to his toes and making his cock twitch. “I thought you liked my coat.”

“I like your naked skin better.”

Dean was slipping in and out of time right now, so he couldn’t be sure if Cas had magicked his clothes away, or if he’d stepped away to remove them by hand. It didn’t matter, he was back on Dean again, this time hot and needy as he mouthed his way down from Dean’s nipples to his weeping dick.

Castiel’s fingers were drawing lines up and down Dean’s thighs as he opened his mouth and sucked in the tip of Dean’s cock. His fingers felt like they were full of fire, and Dean hissed as Castiel took him deeper and deeper.

For a being who had very little sexual experience, he was a master. Dean’s soul was sold to Castiel the moment he ripped him from hell, but if it hadn’t been, this would have done it. His eyes rolled back in his head and his hips began to rise and fall with the rhythm of Castiel’s mouth and tongue.

Dean shivered and shook and knew he was so close to coming, but he wanted more. He’d been waiting so fucking long for this, he wasn’t about to give it up now. Reaching down, he grabbed Cas by the hair and ripped him away.

“Kiss me, you cranky son of a bitch, then fuck me.”

Castiel did, rising up and sliding against Dean’s sweaty, naked chest and their mouths collided like they had magnets being drawn to one another. It was a ridiculous mental image and Dean almost laughed, but it was fitting and besides, Castiel’s tongue was blocking his airway.

He was breathing heavy through his nostrils as his fingers reached up and tugged through Castiel’s dark locks. Their teeth kept clacking together because they were kissing like they wanted to devour each other. And honestly it kind of felt like they were.

Castiel had his hands pressed on either side of Dean’s head, making the mattress dip as his crotch shifted and pushed against Dean’s. Castiel’s dick was hard and pulsing and Dean could feel it against his thigh. It was getting to be too much and he knew if Castiel didn’t fill him now, like right fucking now, he might actually lose his mind and he wouldn’t come back from that.

There was lube in his bag. It was a little sample bottle thrown in with the box of condoms. Cas skipped the rubbers which was all well and good for Dean because he wanted to feel every inch of raw skin inside him. But the lube was necessary, as were the two fingers Castiel shoved up inside him right after flipping Dean onto his belly.

Castiel was lying prone on top of him, his arm bent awkward between their bodies. But just as Dean needed to feel all of Castiel, it seemed the angel craved the same. He wriggled his fingers up there, hitting his prostate hard and furious, making Dean’s cock weep harder and bringing him dangerously close to spilling right there.

“Enough. Fuck. Now. Cock.” The words came out like hiccups, and Dean let out a grunt as Cas moved back, hoisted Dean’s hips into the air and slid in like he’d always belonged there.

So sure it wasn’t totally comfortable and there was a little chafing until Cas poured the rest of the lube bottle out, but then it was smooth fuckin’ from there on. And Cas was fucking perfect. There was no other way to describe it. The angel, the motion, the rhythm. He fucked Dean hard, because it was the only way someone like Dean, who’d just been raked over hell’s coals for too long, could actually feel it.

Dean pressed his face into the mattress, his hands splayed out, ass up in the air as it was pounded. He huffed and moaned and clenched around Cas. He wanted to reach down and tug on his own prick hard and just come all over his own thighs, but he couldn’t get his arms to move. He was lost in the sea of ecstasy and Castiel showed no signs of slowing right then.

But it got hotter, and more intense, and Dean was afraid he was going to lose himself. Castiel seemed to sense it, too, because he closed the gap between him, pressing his chest to Dean’s back. There wasn’t much room for friction, just a subtle grinding of his hips against Dean’s ass. He grabbed Dean’s cock though and began to pump it and it only took a few tugs before Dean was shouting and coming all over.

Castiel came next. Dean hadn’t even been sure he could come, though it made sense since the vessel was human. His seed was hot. Burning hot. Like his fingers and skin and mouth. It lit a fire deep inside him and he couldn’t even cry out as Castiel finished.

It was very cold when it was over. Very cold. Castiel brought up the blankets and apologized profusely because he knew what Dean was feeling. He had always known. He had always known if he crossed that line it was going to break something inside of Dean.

But Dean wanted it. And Castiel needed it. They held each other like a couple of damn girls, but Dean wouldn’t feel ashamed about it. He couldn’t. He had no shame left in him. Cleansing fire of the Angels, deep inside his body and consuming every horrible thing he’d ever done.

He belonged to the angel now. He wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
